


Dumb Luck

by markymark261



Category: Birds of Prey (Comic), DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Humor, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-23
Updated: 2012-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-31 15:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markymark261/pseuds/markymark261
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Joker's back in town, but a desperate Oracle finds there's only one superheroine she can call upon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dumb Luck

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this story many years ago, when the Birds of Prey had a different line-up and Green Arrow had just returned from the dead. Apologies for all the antiquated references, and the fact that subsequent events in Brave and the Bold now prevent it from fitting into that ancient continuity.

Hi, the name’s Barbara Gordon, but you can call me Oracle. That’s it for introductions I’m afraid. Sorry for the abruptness, but I’m having a bad day. They say bad things come in threes. I’m up to number two already, but that’s plenty.

Number one bad thing was my staff suggestion scheme. Well, not the suggestion scheme as such – it helps create the illusion that my little organization is some sort of democracy rather than a benign dictatorship. No, the fault was with the staff – Helena to be precise. She knows how much I worry about security so she came up with possibly the worst codename system ever devised. Needless to say I was googol percent against it, but Dinah and Zinda thought it was ‘kinda cool’ so I was outvoted.

Still, that first one’s more of an irritant than a bad thing. After all, I don’t mind losing – it just gives me the fun of getting even someday. However, the second bad thing is really a bad thing. It started off in Arkham Asylum this morning when there was a slight altercation in a group therapy session with The Joker and Killer Croc. Anyway, before anybody could say “never smile at a crocodile”, The Joker was being carried back to his cell waiting for the dentist to arrive and fix his trademark smile. Anyway, to cut a long story short, once the dentist had finished fixing The Joker, The Joker grabbed the laughing gas and fixed the dentist, and the next thing I know The Joker’s at large in Gotham holding a comedy club hostage.

Which brings me back to the number one bad thing:

“Blossom to Buttercup,” I say down my comm-link.

“Hi, Bloss,” comes back Helena’s voice, followed by a laugh. “Can’t believe you took that codename thing seriously.”

“But it was your idea,” I point out.

“We were just joking,” she explains.

“Ha ha,” I say flatly, and then, deciding that stopping The Joker is narrowly more important than pointing out how much effort it took to electronically distribute the codenames to every superheroine on my list, I get back to the reason for the call.

“Mojo Jojo’s on the loose.”

“Sorry,” replies Helena, “but I’m way too busy for that. I’ve got too get to Luigi’s restaurant pronto before the annual mob food fight starts.”

“What’s the big deal?” I ask. “It’s only a bun fight.”

“The Ventriloquist organized it,” she replies. “Need I point out the hilarious, couldn’t-make-it-up communication mishap.”

“Talk about buns of steel,” I say, realizing the seriousness of the situation. “You better take care of that, Buttercup. I’ll find someone else to take care of Mojo.”

I switch to the next name on my list. Someone I can always rely on.

“Blossom to Bubbles.”

“Hi, Blossom,” she replies, stifling her laughter. “I can’t believe you’re using the codenames.”

“Security’s a serious business,” I point out sternly.

“So, what can I do for you, Blossom?” she asks, still trying not to laugh.

“It’s Mojo Jo-“ I start, and then hear her bursting out laughing at the other end of the comm-link.

“Bubbles, pull yourself together,” I implore her, which only makes her worse. “Mojo Jojo’s at large and somebody’s got to stop him.”

“I’m sorry, Blossom,” she replies, finally managing to stifle herself before she starts shattering windows, “but it’s his birthday today.”

“Whose?” I ask. I know it can’t be Ollie’s, but it turns out I’m wrong.

“Fuzzy Lumpkin’s,” she says, whilst descending once again into hysterics, accompanied by the sound of breaking glass.

“But he’s a Sagittarius,” I say, while bringing up Oliver Queen’s personal details on my screen.

“Yes,” replies Dinah patiently, her laughter having momentarily subsided, “but he came back to life, didn’t he? He’s got two birthdays now, just like Superman and Green Lantern. It’s a perk of the job.”

“And whose bright idea was that?” I ask.

“No idea. Resurrection Man’s I guess. Anyway, I’m sure you can get somebody else.”

“Yeah,” I reply. “Apart from our flying Princess. Zinda’s still not talking to any of us because she didn’t get to be a proper Powerpuff Girl.”

“Yeah, but there were only three Powerpuff Girls,” Dinah says. “That’s just the harsh world of supply and demand.” And then she drops the comm-link and disappears, no doubt into Fuzzy Lumpkin’s loving arms.

I pull up my list of go-to girls and begin to go through all the superheroines on my list, but the world of supply and demand is indeed harsh, and today they all appear to be busy, off fighting crime elsewhere.

Finally I get to the last name on my list – Zatanna Zatara. I’m reluctant to call her, because I’m still mad at her about something, although for the life of me I can’t remember what. Probably just her general attitude – she fights crime in her work clothes and can’t even be bothered coming up with a proper superheroine name. Slacker.

Fortunately she isn’t picking up her phone, so that leaves me with … nobody.

Well, actually just one person. Somebody who I just didn’t even bother contacting the first time through. I assumed that I’d never be that desperate but it looks like I am now.

No, I can’t be that desperate, I realize, and instead get on the phone to Ma Hunkel, begging her to bring her alter-ego out of retirement, but all to no avail.

So, as time rushes by, I’m still sitting here with my finger hovering over the keyboard ready to call her, ready to use the non-Powerpuff codewords (Helena insisted that, for utmost hyper-security, the Powerpuff Girls names were only to be used amongst ourselves; which is a shame since Power Girl was a shoo-in for Sara Bellum).

Thinking of the person I’m going to call, I just can’t bring myself to do it. It would be like signing her death warrant. Time to call in the boss.

“Dexter to Mondark. Dexter to Mondark.”

There’s no answer, so I call Lois to see if Johnny Bravo’s available, but she says he’s off-planet. Can’t get in touch with my old love Darkwing Duck either, or with Tim ‘still needs a codename’ Drake who’s no doubt off on an adventure with Daria, My Little Pony, Bez, Speed Buggy and the other Titans needing codenames. Looks like I’m left with just one option. If only there was another way…

And then I remember I’ve got another number for Mondark. It’s probably not been used in years, but I know Mondark – he never throws anything away, not even giant coins. I cross my fingers and dial the number, hoping that somewhere in Wayne Manor a red phone will be lighting up. Suddenly I hear the ringing tone followed by a familiar voice – Dick’s.

“Holy heartbreak, commissioner. It looks like me and Batman are out right now. If you want to leave a message after the dinnah-dinnah we’ll get right back-“

I hang up. I’ve heard enough. It looks like I’ve got no more options left. Time to bite the bullet.

“Dexter to Dee Dee. Dexter to Dee Dee. Come in, Dee Dee.”

“Sorry, you’ve got the wrong person,” replies the voice on the other end. “I’m D.B.”

“No, they’re codenames,” I explain to Dumb Bunny. “Didn’t you get the e-mail?”

“E-mail? Oh, yes, I remember! The kinda cool codenames.”

“Yeah, they’re great aren’t they,” I say, with a mixture of sarcasm and negative enthusiasm.

“You can say that again, Oracle. They’ll really fool any bad guys who listen in. Everybody will think you’re a red-haired bespectacled genius and I’m a stupid blonde girl with pigtails.”

“Can you please be quiet!” I shout, afraid that she’ll give away my identity. Sure our communications are encrypted to a ridiculous degree plus one, but in a world with super-hearing you never know who might be eavesdropping.

My shouting works and I can’t hear anything on the other end now, except for silence and … Is that sobbing?

“I’m sorry,” I say, almost meaning it. “I didn’t mean to shout at you to be quiet. It’s just force of habit. I used to be a librarian.”

“I’ve always been a Taurus,” she replies, suddenly perky again. “I didn’t realize you could change.”

Trying to ignore her comment, I continue on to the matter at hand: sending Dumb Bunny on a suicide mission. Looking on the bright side, if Green Arrow can get a new birthday out of dying, then it looks like Dumb Bunny will be halfway towards getting a new star sign. “So, Dee Dee,” I start, “the thing is I need you to stop The Joker.”

“Whose codename is that?”

“It’s not a codename. It’s the real Joker.”

“Oh, I like him,” she says, giggling. “He’s a nice man. He always smiles at me.”

“You’ve met The Joker?”

“No, but I’ve seen his picture.”

I shake my head in despair. Bad things do come in threes.

***

It’s an hour later and I’ve somehow managed to guide Dumb Bunny to where I want her to go.

I hear her pushing open the door to the comedy club, and then the next voice I hear is one that always sends a chill down my spine, one that still haunts my nightmares.

“Well, what have we here?”

“I’ve come to capture you, Mr. Joker,” she says.

“You expect me to just surrender?” he says incredulously.

“Yeah, that would be cool,” she responds.

“Okay,” he says, and I hear her walking towards him. Doesn’t she realize that she’s walking into a trap?

“Did you really think that it would be that easy?” asks The Joker. “You silly rabbit.”

“The name’s Dumb Bunny, Mister,” she says angrily, and then suddenly her voice becomes all excited. “Hey, that’s a pretty flower. Can I smell it?”

“No,” I shriek in unison with The Joker, and then he adds, “It’ll be no fun squirting you with acid if you make it that easy.”

“Are you sure you’re really The Joker?” asks Dumb Bunny. “The real Joker would have wanted to squirt me with acid.”

“Of course I’m the real Joker,” insists The Joker.

“Then what’s your real name?” she asks.

“I’m not telling you that. Nobody knows The Joker’s real name.”

“The real Joker does,” she says triumphantly. “It looks like I’ve outwitted you.”

“But I am The Joker,” he says. “I am.”

“Okay, prove it,” she says. “Tell me a joke.”

“My dog has no nose,” he starts.

“Poor thing,” she says, sadness in her voice. “Was it an accident?”

“No,” says The Joker impatiently. “You’re supposed to ask ‘how does it smell?’”

“But it can’t smell,” says a confused Dumb Bunny. “It doesn’t have a nose.”

“No, it’s a joke.”

“What kind of sick joke is that. I doubt if the dog finds it funny.”

“I don’t have a dog,” yells The Joker exasperatedly.

“You can’t just disown him because of a facial distortion,” she exclaims in horror. “You, of all people, should-”

“You’re supposed to ask how it smells,” interrupts The Joker, sounding even more manic than usual. “Please, please ask me how my dog with no nose smells.”

“Okay, if that’s what you want,” says Dumb Bunny. “How does it smell?”

“Terrible,” replies The Joker triumphantly and launches into laughter. Then I hear his chilling laughter ebbing away slowly, while Dumb Bunny remains silent, no doubt still working out the joke.

“No, I think you’ve misunderstood my question,” she finally says, talking slowly in the hope that The Joker will understand her. “I was asking how he manages to smell things without a nose.”

“And I said he smelled terrible,” said The Joker. “I twisted your expectations to humorous effect. That’s the joke.”

“No, that’s not funny at all. The Joker would never tell that joke, especially not about his pet. Are they even allowed pets in Arkham?”

“Okay, one more time,” says a frantic Joker. “I say my dog’s got no nose…”

***

After five long hours of his attempting to explain his joke to Dumb Bunny, I imagine The Joker is tearing his hair out.

“Is it a special breed with no nose?” she asks. “Does it even have a name?”

“No, no, it’s just a joke! It’s just a joke!” he screams at her.

“What’s the matter, The Joker?” she asks. “You sound like you’re having one bad day.”

“Take me back to Arkham!” he says. “Please!!!”

“But I thought you wanted to explain your joke to me?”

“I’m tired of joking around,” he says, flip-flopping from angry to deadly. “Smell my flower!”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she says, and before I can yell ‘No”, I hear the sound of a flower being ripped off a lapel. “It’s just plastic,” she says, almost drowned out by a sizzling sound in the background followed by The Joker’s screams. “Oh no, your clothes are dissolving! Or is that another of your unfunny jokes?”

“Now you’ve got me mad,” I hear him say. I recognise the tone and wish I didn’t. “Now, I’m going to take care of you, you dumb crazy -”

“Dumb? Crazy?” says the affronted Dumb Bunny. “Sure I’m dumb, and maybe crazy, but I’m dumb like a bunny, and crazy like an ox!” And with that she charges The Joker, as I hear clattering and banging.

And then everything’s silent. And the silence continues... and continues.

“Dee Dee, are you okay?” I finally blurt out.

“Sure, Dexter. I’m fine. Just forgot you were there.”

“And The Joker?”

“Well, this guy says he’s The Joker, but he couldn’t tell jokes and he’s sure not smiling now. He’s just flat-out unconscious.”

“I’ll send in Gotham’s finest. They can return him to the captive audience at Arkham, who’ll at least get his jokes. Good work, Dee Dee, the rest of the Inferior Five would be proud.”

“Thanks, Dexter,” she says, with a hint of melancholy. “But I still feel kind of sorry for that guy. Did you hear about his dog? Who’ll look after it now?”

“I’ll make sure it’s looked after,” I tell her, and then drop the comms-link and sit back and relax, realising it’s all over, and then realising there’s a big goofy smile on my face.

Something tells me I’ll sleep well tonight, with no one haunting my dreams. My smile grows wider as it occurs to me The Joker might not be so lucky.


End file.
